Seeds
by Lady Raion
Summary: VinTi. Post-game OGC . The past is gone and the future is bleak. In the wake of a narrowly avoided apocalypse, a woman without a home finds solace in a man without a life.


Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy 7 or anything contained therein.

A post-Meteor story, wherein Tifa doesn't pine (much), Vincent doesn't shun his friends, and Cloud doesn't chase after Aerith. Disregards the existence of Advent Children and Dirge of Cerberus.

Seeds

She met him among the ruins of her past.

Where rubble and ash should have been, testament to the memories that flickered past her mind's eyes in the blackest hours of the night, there stood a lie in perfect arrangement around the single genuine artifact from those days before the mad general's tirade. The decrepit old Shinra mansion had been a blight upon the town's friendly atmosphere for over a decade, mostly abandoned to the treacheries of time and decay with only the occasional visit by Hojo and other severe-faced Shinra personnel. It had been a point of fixation for Tifa and her friends when they were young. Rumors flew that it was haunted and many dares to explore the grounds were issued between them. They were never taken. Parental retaliation could be dealt with, but the expected retaliation of Shinra could not, and that, perhaps more than any fear of the otherworldly, kept them all on the proper side of the gate.

Her expedition inside with Cloud and the others was her first view of the interior. It seemed harmless enough in the daylight, though the illumination falling through the grimy windows was dull and distant. Dust billowed around their footsteps and the wooden planks of the floor groaned in complaint of their weight. A knot of unease formed in her stomach, called forth by the odor of rot and the squeak of unseen pests. The apprehension worsened when Cloud found Hojo's note regarding a man locked in the basement. The giddy whispers of children as they related tales of terrified screams drifting from the mansion at night rang in Tifa's head as she helped the others search for the safe combination.

When Hojo's monster was defeated and the key was safely in their possession, they battled their way through weaker foes to reach the secret door hidden in plain sight on the second floor. They descended creaking stairs into a darkness lightened only by the intermittent glow of bare, dying bulbs along the ceiling. The blackness became gray, but the walls pressed close around them with sharp, jagged edges of stone. If such a thing as purgatory existed, Tifa imagined it was like this, a place of chill and gloom.

The lights became marginally brighter as they approached a door, the door to which the key belonged. The group was dismayed to see their efforts rewarded with a room of coffins, one of which likely containing Hojo's victim. Cloud neared the coffin in the center of the room as curiosity possessed him, and no sooner had he placed his hand on the edge of the lid than the lid went flying off. Inside was a wraith with eyes of blood—or hellfire, Tifa thought—that caught the light from the hall beyond in a burning glow. The fingers of his left hand were sharp, glimmering metal against the shades of darkness otherwise cloaking his form. He moved with inhuman grace, flipping backward until his feet—these too, edged in lethal metallic—came to balance impeccably on the rim of his coffin. His already towering frame was lent a further air of intimidation by the added height. He had a rigid posture and a gaze so unerringly focused as to make Tifa's skin lurch from the intensity of it; he stared down at them with the imperious detachment of a king perched atop his throne. His subjects were cowering against the wall behind him, withered with equal parts time and terror until nothing was left but the void of absent eyes staring up at him from the bleach white of their skulls.

In the long, terrible moments before he spoke, Tifa wildly wondered if the bones were the remains of his victims. If he had kept them captive in his gloomy domain and kept them still, would keep them through eternity, souls bound to his underworld kingdom. She wondered if she and her friends would have to fight for their freedom, and if they could possibly win.

When he did speak it was a depthless, guttural noise, quiet but seeming to emanate from the walls themselves. If he had a mouth with which to speak it was not visible, and so the voice, a dry grind like that of a thirsting man who'd been attempting to slake his ancient craving by swallowing sand, seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. He told them to leave and Tifa was inclined to heed the warning, but fascination kept her rooted to her spot. Perhaps he was not an enemy at all, but a victim himself. Realization was slow to blossom in the shuddering wake of fear, difficult to form against the pounding of her pulse in her temples, but it came crashing down abruptly at his words. This had to be the man that Hojo had locked away. Whatever was hidden there in the shadows, it was the twisted fashioning of Shinra's demented scientist.

She listened to Cloud and this man—because she was certain he was a man now and not some demonic specter—exchange stories. The mournful edge in his otherwise toneless voice as he spoke of a woman named Lucrecia was enough to dissipate most of the clinging remains of fear.

Tifa wasn't sure if she should be dismayed or relieved that he refused to go with them, but when he caught up to them in the hall outside his room and joined them with the apparent intent of seeking revenge on Hojo, she wasn't displeased. He followed several paces behind everyone with a silent, fluid gait. Tension took root in the postures of her friends. They couldn't hear him, but they could sense him behind them like a lurking predator whose territory they had intruded upon. Once they reached the sunbathed upper levels of the house, that tension abated fractionally and one by one each member of the AVALANCHE team turned to regard their new teammate.

The light did little to lessen the severity or the mystery of this stranger. They could see he was indeed a person beneath the shadows that had covered him, but somehow this only made him all the more unusual, as if a being of such stillness and stealth should never wear human skin. He wore dark clothes beneath a flowing cloak of crimson that exposed nothing of him but for his eyes and his right forearm. Black hair fell mid-way down his back, held partially at bay by the cloth wound about his forehead. Tifa took a moment to admire its lustrous sheen before she noticed those alarming red eyes, already narrowed against the glare of the sunlight, narrow further at the sudden scrutiny of the people in front of him. With a chorus of apologetic murmurs the group turned around and proceeded through the mansion with his presence at their backs.

Later that evening Tifa was curled up on the bed in her inn room, a book in hand, idly listening to Aerith and Yuffie chatter while Aerith painted the ninja's fingernails.

"That color is so girly," Yuffie complained.

"That's the point," Aerith replied with a soft chuckle. "So... what do you guys think about our latest addition?"

Tifa glanced up from her book to see Yuffie make a face. "He's creepy. I'm afraid he's gonna suck my blood when I'm asleep or something."

"Oh, Yuffie, that's terrible!" Aerith scolded. "I will admit he's pretty weird, though. He looks like he doesn't have any emotions at all." The Cetran pursed her lips in thought for a moment, then added, "Of course, I guess a prolonged exposure to Hojo could do that to anyone. I kinda feel sorry for him. What do you think, Tifa?"

Tifa worried her lower lip in thought. Vincent Valentine. She turned the name over in her mind a few times, finding it peculiar and lyrical, like the name of a hero in a romance novel. Well, that was a strange thought, placing such a man in a romantic context, yet it did not seem entirely unsuitable to Tifa.

This reasoning drew laughter from Tifa's chest, and amid poorly stifled giggles she said, "He's... intriguing, I think."

Aerith turned to fully face Tifa, a mischievous sparkle lighting her eyes and a smile of equal sentiment shaping her lips. "Hm, I bet you're imagining what he looks like under that cloak, aren't you?"

The laughter fell away, but the smile refused to go anywhere as she said, "I don't know what you mean. Haven't thought of that at all."

It was Aerith's turn to giggle. "Do you think he's handsome under there?"

"Oh Gawd," Yuffie complained. "The only useful guy is one with materia. And anyway, I bet he's scarred up or something."

"Hm, maybe you have a crush on him, too?"

"Ugh, no way!"

"What do you mean, 'too'?" Tifa questioned.

Aerith didn't answer verbally, but sent her a genuinely questioning look. _Do you think the new guy is more interesting than Cloud?_ Tifa rolled her eyes in response. At that particular moment in time, Tifa could envision no other future but one alongside Cloud. Girlish crushes, in their infancy no less, could not rival her hopes for the future.

The next day the team followed Sephiroth's trail through the Nibel Mountains. The path was overrun with monsters and each step was hard-won progression. The group had divided into two with the natives of Nibelheim as leaders. Cloud took Aerith, Cait Sith, and Nanaki while Tifa took Yuffie, Barret, and Vincent. It was within the close confines of a tunnel that Tifa first witnessed Vincent's transformation.

The group was tired, sore, and thoroughly beaten from navigating the rough terrain and the monsters that plagued it. Each person, aside from Vincent, had already reached their limit at least once, utilizing the extra burst of adrenaline to execute otherwise difficult moves. Though Vincent had taken several hits despite his impressive evasive skills, he seemed unaffected. As she watched the beam of Yuffie's flashlight bob along before her, Tifa idly wondered if anything could make him falter. If he could continue marching soundlessly into eternity after they had all fallen to exhaustion or to the hunger of beasts. After all, they didn't really know what he was capable of.

A soft rumbling in the distance jerked Tifa from her thoughts. It was a noise she was well acquainted with, a noise that in her teen years had been a signal that she had gone too deep into the mountains and that if she wanted to keep her life she had better head back immediately. There could be no going back this time, not with Sephiroth out there somewhere ahead. Tifa the Adult squared her shoulders and tugged at her fighting gloves in preparation.

The dark mass just beyond lunged forward, bringing a scaled hide of mottled green into illumination. The dragon was little more than a child, but dangerous nonetheless. Even more so as its bulk could fit into the tunnel where that of a grown dragon's could not. It charged with an angered screech and Tifa fell back a few steps at the aggressive behavior. Behind and to the right of her bullets flew in an unwavering line at the creature's head.

"Watch it! Back up!" Tifa cautioned as she heeded her own advice. In her mind she began to call forth a blizzard spell to halt its advance.

As it neared, the dragon twisted and whipped its tail at the pathetic humans that dared to tread on its family's territory. Vincent, crowded by the oversized reptile in an already small space, could find no room to elude the strike and caught the vicious tail in the chest. The tip of the appendage caught Yuffie's arm as well and the flashlight went flying out of her hands before rolling away.

The spell faded along with Tifa's concentration, and against a draconian screech of triumph Tifa called for her wounded teammates. "Yuffie? Vincent? Are you guys okay?"

"I'm okay, Tifa," came the teenager's reply. "Just my arm."

Vincent did not respond. Tifa couldn't see him or the dragon, as the flashlight now pointed back the way they had come. Even the dragon seemed to give pause, and for a moment nothing could be heard but ragged breath, choking as if the air was thick and clinging to the insides of his throat. Then a growl, low and soft but rising in volume every second.

"Vi-Vincent?" Tifa inquired breathlessly.

The stillness was broken as Yuffie stood and shuffled after the flashlight. The edge of her shoe hit it before she could stoop to pick it up, and the implement rolled again and turned just enough. Just enough for Tifa and Barret to see, in the ghostly outer reaches of the light, a hulking, misshapen form where their new acquaintance should've been. His cloak pooled at his—its?—feet and his clothes and pale skin had given way to a leathery dark hide that writhed across lurching bones and grotesque swells of muscle disproportionate to his body. In the hush that stretched between shocked warriors and a puzzled dragon, Vincent's frame audibly shifted, joints grinding, crunching, cracking as limbs and spine stretched without synchronization to form, momentarily, an asymmetrical beast from the abstract realm of a nightmare. It took only seconds, likely less, for him to become more monster than human, and by the time Yuffie grasped the flashlight and turned it fully in Vincent's direction, there was nothing left of him even vaguely suggestive of the man he'd been. Light glittered across threads of saliva hanging from yellowed fangs and reflected in eyes of soulless gold. Yuffie's scream was swallowed in a roar that shook the floor beneath their feet.

The flashlight dropped again from the ninja's slack fingers and Tifa fancied she could hear the panicked throbs of the trio's hearts above the clash of monsters as they huddled together against the wall. Growling, screeching, stomping madness echoed through the tunnel, accented by the wet slide of sharp edges through pliant flesh and tempered by the deafening beat of their fear—a symphony of discordant destruction.

"W-what do we do?" Yuffie whispered. It was another long moment before anyone tried to answer.

"The light, girl. Get th' light. We gotta fight too, right?" Barret reasoned.

Tifa chose to ignore the warble in his soft voice. "That's right. We should help."

Yuffie found the flashlight for the third time. The yellowing beam caught first on jets of blood bursting from scales before sliding away to find the gore stained claws and muzzle on the beast formerly known as Vincent Valentine.

"The dragon, Yuffie. Aim it at the dragon," Tifa urged.

Barret fired his gun arm in its direction, but when Tifa stepped forward to bring her fists into play, Barret used his good arm to grasp her shoulder.

"Nuh-uh. Shouldn't be goin' anywhere near that."

It wasn't much longer before the reptile fell dead with a final cry. Three weary sets of eyes turned to the horned creature standing victorious over the corpse. At the intrusion of the light, it turned to stare them down with a snarl rolling in the depths of its throat.

Barret raised his gun, but Tifa placed a hand against the metal. "Don't."

The thing formerly known as Vincent gave them its back again. Muscles spasmed across its body and it hunched in on itself. The process they had witnessed before in shock and horror reversed itself and left Vincent kneeling, shoulders heaving in broken pants for oxygen.

"Vincent? You okay?" Tifa winced at the shrill of her voice and took a tentative step forward.

He nodded once, a calm movement undermining the chaos that had only just relinquished his body.

"Would you like a potion?"

A steady hand closed on the cloak behind him and he threw it over his shoulders before standing. Another nod as he buckled the collar. When Tifa reached his side, potion in hand, her eyes dropped to his bare fingers. The digits were sticky, caked in crimson. He noticed the direction of her gaze and, lacking anything better, wiped the filth on his pants before opening his palm again for the potion. She smiled as much as she could; she hadn't meant to offend. She only found herself momentarily transfixed by the slender length of those fingers, so pale and fragile compared to the massive paws he had wielded only moments ago. Tifa placed the potion in his hand and watched those fingers curl around the cylindrical bottle before she chanced a look at his eyes. Empty. As if all that had just transpired meant nothing to him. As if nothing in the world mattered at all. She fought the insistent climb of a shiver up her spine as she realized that only the light of intelligence in that icy gaze differentiated it from that of a corpse.

"Thank you." Empty gratitude in monotone.

Tifa swallowed and turned away. "Right. We should get going, everyone. Cloud and the others might be waiting for us already."

Tifa had warned the others about Vincent's limit before it occurred again. Her words did nothing to lessen the shock. Even as Tifa's insides quivered with the violence of his howl, she managed a smattering of amusement at Cloud's slack jaw and Cait Sith's sudden stillness. She hadn't known Aerith could get quite so pale. Only Cid, who at that point was still a fairly recent addition, seemed to take it in stride.

"What did ya say happened to 'im?"

"Hojo had him locked in a basement," Tifa explained.

Cid forcefully exhaled plumes of smoke and tossed the spent cigarette butt into the grass for a hostile meeting with the sole of his boot. "Well, hell. What can ya expect from a freak like that Hojo? Probably lucky he didn't end up with an extra head or some shit. Damn, lookit 'im go. We could just about let 'im do all the fightin' for us."

Tifa had to agree. This strength, wherever it came from, saved them on several occasions.

Time moved forward and stole away the flower girl of the slums to deliver her to a higher purpose somewhere beneath the planet's crust. The future Tifa had imagined grew dim, not only with the threat of fiery red death soon to breach the atmosphere above, but in the face of slowly dawning realization. When she helped gather the pieces of Cloud's puzzle and fit them together again, the finished picture was not the boy whose memory she had clutched to her heart in a steel grip. He was different, but for his lack of receptiveness. She could never be sure where his thoughts were lying at any given moment, but she fought and lived alongside him with the constant knowledge that it was never with her. In the lonely hours of the night with nothing but Yuffie's snores to accompany her, Tifa caught herself wondering if she'd been holding on so passionately out of longing for the simpler past they'd both left behind. She never quite allowed herself to come to a conclusive answer.

With tragedy and danger, however, time also brought more pleasant things. In her peripheral vision Tifa watched Vincent grow. She supposed that with such an exuberant team it was unavoidable that some of their energy would serve to animate him. With off-handed compliments and offerings of wisdom he drew life into the hollow of his stare. When he expressed concern for her, gaze warmed faintly by the sincerity of his words, it meant more to her than it probably should have.

Any of Tifa's other friends would have said the same thing, of course, but somehow it meant more coming from him. As if the words were a precious treasure awarded to her when his words were so scarce and often distant or cryptic.

_"...So glad you're alright, Tifa."_

On nights when her head wasn't buzzing with tumultuous thoughts of Cloud, she would recall those words in the quiet softness of his voice, colored vaguely in genuine pleasure beyond its usual monochrome. And, with her fingers curling girlishly in her hair, she would smile. During one of these sleepless nights she decided that while short, blonde, and cute would always hold a special place in her heart, she was beginning to appreciate the merits of tall, dark, and handsome.

She stopped being afraid of him, even when he began to change into that terrible winged beast he called Chaos. She knew that no matter what shape he took, Vincent was in there somewhere, and she trusted him. She trusted him with her life, and when the time came to battle Sephiroth, that trust was rewarded in full.

After Sephiroth was dead and meteor had been destroyed, Cid steered the Highwind away from the ruins of Midgar toward Rocket Town. His beloved airship was in need of maintenance after their daring escape from the Northern Crater. As they crossed the ocean through familiar skies they filled the hours of the journey with celebration. Drink, laughter, and giddy joy was shared as they gathered on the deck and watched the world rush away beneath them with wide smiles and glassy wet eyes. The world that wouldn't exist in all its lush color and life but for their blood, sweat, and tears, and the life of a young woman taken too soon. They were high and mighty in their power, far above the world as they floated on the frenetic energy of heart wrenching relief. Then they set down in Rocket Town and, like slamming into dirt after a hundred foot fall, the fatigue and hurt they had staved off in their excitement finally sunk into their bones and they staggered off to the comfort of inn beds.

Afterwards the team of saviors known as AVALANCHE began to unravel. Barret was the first to go, the very next day, in fact. Though Reeve had assured them of Marlene and Elmyra's safety in Kalm, Barret wouldn't be satisfied until he saw his adopted daughter alive and safe for himself. After a round of goodbyes, he set off for Costa del Sol with the intention of catching the next boat to the eastern continent. Yuffie and Nanaki were next, two days later. Nanaki had a village to look in on, and Yuffie needed to visit her father and the people she would one day lead.

Cid was already home, of course, and found purpose in toiling away on his ship while at home he struggled to break years-long bad habits in his treatment of Shera. That left Tifa, Cloud, and Vincent languishing at the small town's inn with indecision. Tifa and Cloud no longer had a home or family to return to, and Tifa doubted if Vincent did either. The spark of relief guttered and died in the face of a reality that had nothing to offer them. A tense silence reigned, each day inching forward and sliding away in solitude.

Between Tifa and Cloud the silence was a palpable thing, a chasm growing wider as the sense of purpose that had tethered them together ceased to be. Tifa had accepted that her life with him would never be roses and white picket fences, but all the same she couldn't bring herself to leave his side. Not with the distance growing in his eyes, cool Mako blue as uncaring as the vastness of the sky above. He was lost and she was lost, and why couldn't they be lost together?

A few days after the ruination of Midgar, Reeve finally found time to brief his long-distance comrades about the status of the city's survivors. Through the inappropriately cheerful guise of Cait Sith, he explained that the evacuees were being relocated to Kalm, away from the wavering skeleton of Shinra's empire. Volunteers were organizing rescue searches through the rubble and Reeve was pulling every resource he had available to keep the survivors alive. Sephiroth was gone and meteor was destroyed, but somehow the challenges the world faced in the aftermath seemed so much more complicated than their straightforward decisions to fight and survive until the end.

Tifa knew then that she wanted to be in the Midgar area. She wanted to be down in the eye of the suffering where she, as an able-bodied person, could do whatever she could to help.

That night her restless legs carried her away from the sleeping town and out to the silent metal sanctuary of the Highwind. She slipped inside, groped her way through the darkened interior, and stumbled out to the observation deck where countless stars and a half-lit moon showered her in celestial light. In the nocturnal serenity she could almost imagine that she heard Midgar's citizens calling for her across the land and sea. Calling for her assistance as their due for her acts of terrorism.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Still holding so much anger in her heart, oppressed for years in the sunless squalor of the slums, a few lives seemed such an easy sacrifice for the greater good. For her revenge. Now she could only think that "a few lives" could be the friends that she had grown to hold so dear. Could be the outgoing young woman in pink with the gentle laugh. Could be misguided environmentalists living beneath a detachable plate. No, a few lives would always be too many.

Tifa walked to the edge of the deck and seated herself on the varnished wood with her legs dangling between the railing bars. She had helped save the world but she still had a personal debt to pay to Midgar. Yet, she couldn't leave Cloud to waste away in Rocket Town, either. He needed her. Maybe they could go to Midgar together, work side by side and build a better tomorrow.

Or maybe he would continue rotting in his self-imposed isolation and slip through her fingers like he always did. Maybe she was kidding herself and it was she that needed him, a relic of her past and a false promise for the future.

Her eyes misted and for once she didn't bother to fight the constriction around her heart. She let it tighten until it burst, let the pain wash over her until her cheeks were salty slickness. Her eyes burned for Cloud, for Aerith, for Midgar, for everything.

The protesting whine of the wooden deck somewhere behind her drew her attention and she turned to spy a blur of red and black through her tears. He was frozen near the deck entrance, one foot in front of the other, and once her vision cleared enough she could see the flickers of surprise in his gaze.

"I'm sorry," he said at last. "I'll leave you to your... pondering."

Realizing the sort of state she was in, she turned away only long enough to viciously rub the tears from her face before offering a smile that trembled on her lips. "No, that's okay! I was just... um, it's fine. What brings you out here, anyway?"

Vincent was silent for a stretch of several seconds. Tifa suspected he was weighing his options in his mind and trying to decide if he should stay or melt back into the safety of the shadows before she could dissolve into tears again.

"I suspect the same thing that compelled you to seek this place," he eventually answered. He kept the distance between them, but at least he didn't leave.

"Oh, I understand." Sensing the danger of his departure in the lull of the conversation, she grasped at the first topic she could think of to keep him, her distraction, near her and forced it from her mouth. "Vincent, what are you going to do now? I mean, now that it's over? Where will you go?"

A shrug. "I have no home."

"Family?"

A shake of his head, barely visible in the starlight and the distant caress of Rocket Town's lights.

She watched her feet kick against the airship's hull. "Me either. I don't have anything anymore." Not a relic, not a promise. She was starting to realize that truth, but realization and acceptance were two different things. "Guess we're in the same boat." A sigh followed by a question that tasted revoltingly of self-pity. "Do I even have a purpose anymore?"

"Does anyone? Time will continue forward, carrying the ebb and flow of life until this miniscule planet ceases its turn through its fractional patch of space, leaving the universe beyond to continue unhindered and unaffected. In the end, perhaps all anyone ever truly accomplishes is stalling the inevitable."

Tifa blinked once, then rolled her eyes as her lips formed a soft smile. "That's comforting, _really_," came her sarcastic assurance. "But I'm not worried about my place in the universe; I'm worried about my place in this world. In the here and now. Really, I'd like to go help the recovery process in Midgar, but Cloud is just sort of... frozen here. I can't just leave him." She shrugged and distantly noted that her words sounded suspiciously like scrambling justification as she spoke them. "I'm waiting to see what Cloud wants to do."

Wind rushed through tall grasses, attacking her bare legs with the chill of early spring and far-off wildlife indulged in instinctual night song that rushed to fill the gap in words between them. The placidity made his words, his precious words typically in much shorter supply, all the more powerful when he finally spoke.

"What do you want, Tifa?"

Taken aback by this question that no one, to her recollection, had ever posed to her before, she looked away from him and intently studied the field of green beyond. "What I want? Well, I just... I just want everyone to be happy."

"And what of your happiness?" he pressed. "You may think that your misery is the greatest gift you can give, but often it is given for naught. Your sacrifice is meaningless to one whose path has irrevocably been decided alone." A beat and then, "Your pain will not buy him happiness, Tifa."

It was all she could do to stifle the sob that welled in her chest. It was burning, cutting agony inside, but it was the sharp edge of clarity slicing into her heart and she knew it was what she needed to feel. It took an immeasurable amount of time until some semblance of composure returned, the wetness of her eyes the only visible remnant of her internal struggle.

"I apologize," Vincent murmured. "It was not my place."

She shook her head furiously. "No, no! You're..." She smiled over her shoulder at him. "You're a good friend, Vincent."

He tilted his head, as if puzzled by her statement. "Hm. Keep such ideas to yourself, if you please. I do have a reputation to uphold."

Tifa erupted into a wet, sniffling chuckle. "Of course. Wouldn't want Yuffie banging down your door someday for a heart-to-heart, hm?"

He shook his head. The momentary silence that came this time was companionable, if not entirely comfortable.

"I have not decided what I will do yet, nor do I believe I will by lingering in this town. I will gather supplies tomorrow and leave the day after. Perhaps the answer will come to me in time."

"Leaving us so soon, huh?" Tifa stood and turned to face him. "You'll say goodbye before you leave, right?" He nodded. "And you'll call sometimes to let me know you're okay, right? 'Cause if you don't, I'll hunt you down and it won't be a pretty scene."

Amusement faintly lit his eyes. "Of course. I have no desire to incur your wrath."

"Good. I'll hold you to that." She entwined the fingers of her hands in front of her and squeezed them. "And, if you like... I'll call you, too."

"I would appreciate knowing that you are well." He nodded. "Goodnight, Tifa."

She returned his words of parting and watched him retreat into the dark innards of the ship. A small smile pulled at her lips and her cheeks warmed faintly against the nip of the wind. Once he had disappeared, she turned back to the night sky, her one-sided conversation with the stars not yet finished.

An hour later she was drawing lungfuls of air to steady the trembling of her fingers as she walked back to the inn. As she suspected, Cloud was still sitting in the dimly lit dining room adjoining the lobby, staring vacantly into a glass of water.

"Cloud?"

He blinked once and gazed up at her slowly. "You should go to bed, Tifa. It's late."

The words were mumbled, drawn from old habits forged during the journey and entirely irrelevant to their currently meaningless existence. It wasn't as if any of them had anything to rise early for anymore.

"I'm alright." She gnawed at her lip for a moment while mentally assuring herself that this had to be done. "You look like you haven't slept in ages, Cloud."

"I'm fine." He rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. "I've just been up thinking."

"What about?"

He gave her a careless shrug. "Just... everything."

Tifa leaned against the door frame to steady herself. "It's kind of scary now, isn't it? I mean, what are we supposed to do with ourselves?" He shrugged again at her rhetorical question. "You know, I've been thinking that the people in Midgar really need help right now. They can use all the help they can get." She shut her eyes briefly at the realization that she was floundering and finally offered, in a near whisper, "It's something to do, anyway."

"So when will you be leaving?"

If his eyes were the uncaring sky, then his voice was the black oblivion of space. There was no warmth, no kindness, no lament over her perceived departure. Still, she knew her friend was in there somewhere, and she reached for him through the tremors in her voice.

"A-actually I was thinking we could go." She swallowed the hot coal clogging her throat. "Together."

He looked at her again, and it seemed in that moment that there was nothing human within him with which the pleading in her words could resonate. Her heart plummeted to her feet as she realized she had lost this battle and she'd been ill-prepared to fight it.

"I don't think so. Too many memories for me."

Perhaps all the preparation in the world wouldn't have helped.

Her voice was torn by the twisting of angry tears as she whispered, "You can't hide from your memories." Again her eyelids slid closed, but in the darkness she found no relief. His frigid gaze still haunted her there. "But maybe you can't cling to them either, right?"

And then she was fleeing up the stairs to her room, to the solace of her bed. Her blankets tangled around her with her restless movements like a serpent slowly strangling her body as she tried to sink into blessed unconsciousness and escape the turmoil within. She missed Yuffie's light snoring. Without it, the silence only seemed to catch her thoughts and echo them back at her.

Upon first laying her head on the pillow, Tifa thought she might stay in Rocket Town. It seemed Cloud was being rather callous now, but it wasn't his fault. He needed her to be his friend and breathe life into him once more. Hours later she was half-dreaming of those terrible, long days sitting beside Cloud's wheelchair as he stared into space unseeing and babbled to himself. No matter how often she spoke to him, he never acknowledged her presence. Would they always be like that? She had helped fix him then, but it seemed now that it hadn't been enough.

By the time pale light flowed into her room through cracks in the blinds, Tifa had made up her mind. She couldn't help Cloud find himself; she didn't know where to look this time. She wouldn't find herself in his salvation, no matter the time and tears she offered.

Later that afternoon she crossed paths with Vincent in the store as they both stocked up on supplies. He didn't question her shopping spree, but appraised her collection of potions and ethers with a knowing gaze. She thought, though it may well have been her imagination, that a small smile graced his lips behind that accursed collar.

They headed back to the inn together without a word spared between them until Tifa cleared her throat on the doorstep and laid a hesitant hand on his arm. He turned to her and arched a brow of inquiry.

"What direction are you heading in tomorrow?" she asked with a strained smile. A silly question, really, as there was only one direction to take from Rocket Town.

"I'll be heading through the Nibel Mountains."

"I'll be going that way too, actually." As if it was mere coincidence and not forgone conclusion. Her fingers entwined too tightly to be comfortable and she told herself there was nothing at all strange in what she was about to ask. He wouldn't think her silly, because it was perfectly reasonable that two former teammates traveling in the same direction should travel together. Never mind that she wanted him there with her, at least through the first leg of her journey, so that she wouldn't consider turning back. "Why don't we... you know, go together? Since we're both going that way?" He didn't answer immediately and she volunteered in hushed words, "Cloud, um, won't be coming with me."

"I suspected as much," he admitted. "I really have no plan beyond reaching Nibelheim, but I will accompany you that far. It will be safer to travel as a pair."

The smile that brightened her face was genuine. "Yeah, we were always encouraged to use the buddy system to travel the mountains. When I was a kid, I mean." The smile fell in favor of lightly pinkened cheeks. "Right, so bright and early tomorrow morning, then?"

She shuffled awkwardly around him, back facing the door, as she was caught between the desire to flee immediately and hold the deep crimson stare that secretly fascinated her. At a loss, she wiggled her fingers in a half-hearted wave and turned to find the door much closer than she thought it would be. About an inch from her nose, to be exact.

Tifa backed up a step with a minute gasp. His human hand reached around her and settled on the door knob. "Allow me."

He opened the door for her and allowed her to cross the threshold ahead of him. With her face burning a shade to rival his eyes, she squeaked a thank-you and fled to her room. Upstairs she pressed cool fingers to her cheeks and found herself nervous about the upcoming journey for reasons that had nothing to do with leaving Cloud.

Later that afternoon she sat in Cid and Shera's kitchen with a cup of tea, explaining her decision. As she spoke, she stared into the steam swirling from the dark liquid, reluctant to face any judgment that might be reflected in the pair of eyes watching her. Once she was finished, however, Cid's heavy, calloused hand clapped down on her shoulder.

"Sounds good. Them poor people could use a kind, cheerful gal like you around."

"But Cloud?"

Cid crushed the remains of his cigarette out in an ashtray. "Shit, don't you worry nothin' about 'im. Boy's just gotta get his fuckin' head on right, and if he don't, I'm gonna whip his skinny ass into shape."

At the slight frown that pulled at Tifa's lips, Shera laughed. "Don't look so worried. If the Captain's temper gets out of hand, I'll reign him in." At this, her hand lightly brushed Cid's forearm. The action, though seemingly small and insignificant, did not go unnoticed by Tifa's attentive eye. "And I'll keep Cloud healthy."

"You tryin' to say something 'bout my fuckin' care-givin' skills, woman?"

Shera rolled her eyes. "A man cannot live off beer and cigarettes alone."

"'Course not. Gotta have some goddamn tea in there somewhere." Cid lit another cigarette and leaned back in his seat. "Been thinkin' lately 'bout tinkerin' with the ole rocket once the Highwind's flyin' right. Maybe when this mess all blows over, we can start up the space program proper." As he said this, his pale eyes flickered over to Shera, silently and subtly asking for her opinion. Tifa smiled.

"Oh, that would be lovely. Making tea all day isn't exactly stimulating work."

Cid's thin lips spread in a toothy grin. "Hell, I could think o' some things to stimula-"

"Cid Highwind!" Shera interrupted. "We have company present."

Tifa broke into full-fledged laughter at this. With the nearly forgotten sound reverberating in her chest, she felt for the first time in a long while that everything would be okay. Eventually, everything would be just fine if she kept her head high and her friends in close contact.

"There now." Cid tapped her chin. "That's the smile we all like to see from ya."

Inwardly, Tifa wondered if she would always be expected to smile, but squashed the thought before it could take root and poison her temporary lightheartedness.

"Thanks for everything, you guys. I'll be sure and call you every now and then."

"Please do," Shera urged. "I'd like to know you and Vincent are doing alright."

"Well, I don't think we'll actually be traveling together for very long."

"Then ya better tell that ole spook to keep in touch, too," Cid warned. "And ya better come back and visit. Kettle's always on for ya."

Despite the bitter twang of her earlier thoughts on the matter, Tifa's smile lingered. A part of her had feared that they would think her selfish for leaving Cloud to his confusion, but their acceptance of her plan dulled the continuously looping concern needling at her within that she was doing the wrong thing.

An invisible sun was just beginning to color the horizon the next morning when she rose from rumpled sheets. She dressed in her traveling clothes before padding down the hallway in socked feet to the door by the staircase. A light tap on the wooden barrier summoned a groggy, half-dressed swordsman to the threshold. Cloud blinked slowly at her, eyes straining against the dim lighting of the corridor and mind straining against the clutches of slumber in a bid to comprehend her presence at his door at such an ungodly hour. She did little to lessen his confusion as she took the moment to wordlessly map out the curves and angles of his face accented in the faint golden glow of the lights, committing his features to memory. Silly, she told herself. She would see him again.

"Going soon?" came the sleep-laden scratch of his voice.

"Yeah."

Even as she spoke, she was questioning herself. Could she really walk away from him? What if the space between them grew into an insurmountable distance in her absence, and she would return only to find him a familiar stranger, staring at her from the opposite side of a gaping schism?

When he drew her into an awkward, one-armed hug, her fears dissolved. Her lips formed a smile as her vision rippled with unshed tears and she patted the warmth of his bare back. There would never be a distance between them that they couldn't overcome, she decided. Fate had pulled them back together before and would do so again, even if it wasn't in the capacity she'd hoped for in the past. He released her, and she didn't allow herself to lament his warmth once it was gone.

"Take care, Tifa."

She treasured the simplicity of his words more than any overwrought dramatics.

"You too, Cloud."

With that she turned away, her path at last decided. She was pleased with herself when only a sniffle escaped at the sound of his door closing behind her.

Later, after a quick breakfast in the inn's dining room, Tifa hefted her pack onto her shoulders and headed outside. She hadn't seen Vincent at all that morning, but found him waiting outside for her as she'd expected.

"Ready?"

She managed a smile and nodded. He said nothing more before turning and striding toward the town's entrance. With new morning sun warming their path and birds singing their praises to fresh beginnings all around them, Tifa followed the fluttering of Vincent's cloak out of Rocket Town, away from the Highwind, away from the remnants of AVALANCHE, and away from Cloud Strife.

By the time the pair reached the Nibel Mountains, the sun had been swallowed in the lifeless slate of storm clouds. Sporadic rain made slick the narrow paths winding about the dark spires of stone, and this paired with occasional attacks by monsters made the mountainside difficult to navigate even for the veteran guide.

Tifa and Vincent hadn't yet reached the cave of the late Materia Keeper when these obstacles became especially perilous. A screeching battle cry marked the descent of a small flock of zuu as the pair traveled a particularly thin stretch of foot trail. Vincent began firing immediately and Tifa called forth a fire spell from the materia in her gloves. She'd managed to singe the feathers from one of the flapping fiends when its sibling decided to retaliate in the form of a suicide dive. Tifa dodged the malicious intent of those seeking talons, only to find herself at the mercy of the forces of nature. The bottom of her boots slid against wet rock, and she had a moment, just a half-second, to gasp in realization at what was about to happen. The bottom of her feet met air and then she was falling. Her hands scrambled in desperation against the stone, nails breaking and cracking, skin shredding as her fingers found no purchase. Fate smiled upon her, however, as she finally found a decent handhold along a faintly protruding ledge.

"Tifa!"

The martial artist allowed herself a breath against the panic constricting her chest before she called back, "I'm okay! Relatively."

Gunfire continued, piercing the furious war song of Vincent's assailants. "Hold on!"

If her pulse hadn't been threatening to choke the words from her throat, she might've laughed. It wasn't as if she had any other options. Her arms, though toned and strengthened through years of training, were already trembling with the effort of clinging. Images of her own splintered frame sprawled across the earth in a gory tribute to gravity flashed through Tifa's mind before she decided she had to try climbing up herself. With her boots braced against the cliff side she tried to lift herself to the next handhold, but the weight of her pack hanging behind her made it impossible.

With a shuddering sigh, Tifa dug one hand into the damp rock until her knuckles strained white beneath the skin, then she allowed her other hand to let go. She let the strap holding her bag against her body slip from her arm, then switched sides so that the extra weight fell away. It took effort not to attempt following it down with her eyes, but she had learned her lesson about looking down long ago.

Tifa managed to pull herself up and was balanced precariously along the ledge, reaching for the lip of the pathway above her when the din of battle ceased and Vincent appeared immediately at the edge. She had only a moment to note that his eyes contained an unusual glimmer of panic before his hands closed over hers and she was effortlessly hauled up to safety.

Seated on blessedly solid ground, Tifa slumped in boneless relief and spared a moment to appreciate the air rushing in and out of her lungs. When she opened her eyes again she found herself staring directly into the inscrutable intensity of Vincent's stare. Her breath came short again for an entirely different reason as she realized his hands were still grasping her around her wrists. The long, bare fingers of his right hand curled around her with protective heat while the fingers of his left hand were tendrils of ice loosely ringing her flesh, the lethal tips grazing the sensitive underside of her wrist. It occurred to her that he could easily have broken her bones or torn her skin accidentally, but as far as she could tell, he hadn't so much as bruised her.

Her eyes were just flickering down to his hold when hot tingles filled her hands and began to wash over the rest of her body. The gentle, earthen glow of healing magic spiraled around her body and flared brightly along her bloodied fingers, soothing the pain there in increments until it was gone. He released her immediately as the magic began to fade, snatching his hands away as if scalded by the contact, and she felt inexplicably bereft at the loss.

"You're alright?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little shaken."

He carefully helped her to her feet just as a drizzle brought the soft patter of rain against their skin.

"If my memory serves me correctly, there is a cave just ahead. We can rest there."

Tifa nodded, then groaned as she watched Vincent retrieve the bag that he had slung down along the path at the beginning of the battle. "All of my supplies are gone. All of my gil, too."

"We've defeated many monsters along our way. I'm sure the town will reward us well for our kills," he assured her as they took up the path again.

True as that might have been, the entire town was shut up tightly by the time they arrived late that afternoon. The light misting of precipitation had turned into an abrupt torrential downpour along the way, driving the town's false residents to lock themselves indoors. The shop where they would've exchanged the collected fangs and claws that served as proof of their kills for gil was closed, and Vincent's savings were not quite enough to secure a room at the inn. Desperate to escape the freezing rain that numbed the bare skin of Tifa's upper arms and made over-flowing rivers down the musculature of her legs, they escaped into the Shinra mansion.

It seemed an unfair association to make, but Tifa couldn't help but think of this musty, rotting shell as Vincent's realm. It was from deep within its bowels that he had emerged, after all, and as she followed him over the threshold into the shadowed foyer beyond, as she shut the door behind her and watched the shadows deepen, she wondered with idle amusement if she was to be his prisoner this time.

That thought, or any other, was fleeting against the ice that seemed to be spreading across her skin. Her arms were tightly crossed in front of her chest in a bid for modesty and her shoes sloshed with every step. Exhausted from their tumultuous trek through the mountains, Tifa sought out an old chair against the wall opposite the foot of the staircase and plopped down with a sigh.

"There may still be monsters here," Vincent warned. "Wait here and I will see if I can find something to warm you."

Tifa nodded gratefully and watched him ascend the stairs. Once he had disappeared down a hallway, Tifa pulled off her socks and shoes. Her toes wiggled in celebration of their freedom from the damp, clinging confines and she took the opportunity to unwind her arms from her torso and lift the sodden weight of her hair from her back. She wrung it out over the floor, adding another puddle to the collection that she and Vincent had left across the expanse of the foyer.

Every available measure to comfort herself successfully taken, Tifa settled back into the seat and took in the room around her. The foyer was a patchwork of deep black spaces broken intermittently by a lifeless, colorless glow too dim to really be called light emanating from the upstairs windows. The continuous deluge of rain assaulted the roof in a dull roar and thunder grumbled in the distance. If she strained her ears she could hear the nearby trickle of water and realized the ceiling was leaking somewhere.

It certainly wouldn't have been her first choice as a shelter from the storm, had she been afforded a choice at all, but it did hold a certain serene, if eerie beauty. How long, she wondered, had this house been wasting away within its gated cage? And Vincent within it?

She didn't have much chance to ponder the issue as the dull gleam of metal alerted her to Vincent's presence at the top of the stairs. She watched him descend with a folded blanket in one hand, and extended one arm from around her chest to take the bundle from him as he approached. The blanket smelled of dust and age; the edges were frayed and threads hung loose, but it was large and most importantly, dry.

"This was the best I could find."

After a moment's deliberation she decided that the uncomfortable, icy cling of her shirt and bra was no longer tolerable now that she had alternate covering. "Um, I think I'm going to get out of this shirt so if you could, um..."

She didn't have to finish her request. Vincent gave her his back, turning to face the staircase. Her shirt-turned-second-skin was peeled away, followed by her bra, and she laid them out over the ground nearby. As she was arranging the blanket over her shoulders so that the edges met behind her back, she glanced up to see Vincent hanging his dripping cloak over the banister. No doubt picking up on the silence at the cessation of her movement, he looked over his shoulder at her just as lightening flashed beyond the windows. The light caught in his eyes, burning with the iridescent gleam of a nocturnal predator, and a shiver that had little to do with the cold writhed across Tifa's skin.

Then the light was gone and Vincent's stare was gone. He hesitated for a moment, then began pulling off the pieces of his gauntlet and setting them on the steps. It was the first time he had ever removed it in front of an audience and aside from his transformations it was also the first time he had taken off his cloak in anyone's presence. He was so careful to hide himself away, as if the secrets of the universe were written upon his skin and he was selfishly keeping it all to himself. Or as if, perhaps, the seemingly human form was merely a trick, and beneath his clothes there was nothing but shadows.

Tifa's lips twitched upward at the silly thought, but the expression promptly faltered as she witnessed him untuck his shirt from his pants. It made perfect sense that he would want to remove his own soaked clothing, but it was such an abrupt change from the barriers she had become used to with Vincent that it set her on edge.

Her stomach tightened into tingling knots and nervous words crawled from her mouth. "Um, maybe we should, uh, go upstairs and go to bed. To sleep," she amended hastily, then hid the resulting cringe beneath her blanket.

Vincent paused in his task, but if he noticed her verbal stumbling he made no mention of it. "I wouldn't recommend that. Various pests have nested in the mattresses."

Her nose wrinkled at the thought. "Guess down here is fine, then." Movement again as he worked at his buttons. Drawing a deep breath, Tifa asked, "Come across any monsters?"

"No. It would seem that you and the others eliminated them all and they haven't taken up here again. Not yet."

"That's... good..."

The black cloth slid away to reveal broad shoulders and pale skin just barely visible in the murky blend of dark and light. Lightening exploded once more, like the flash of a camera, illuminating a moment of singular perfection to be preserved within Tifa's mind as the wash of brilliant white captured the narrow lines of suffering along Vincent's back. The thick, damp curtain of his hair swept partially over his shoulders afforded her a view of the symmetrical scars running along his shoulder blades and other stray marks that marred the near luminosity of his skin. The light faded all too quickly, but still Tifa watched—no, if she was honest, she stared—in silent fascination as the trappings of a mystery gave way to the revelations of muted light. It wasn't that the structure of his body was different in any way from any other man's, and it wasn't even the scars that gave her pause. It was more the fact that he was normal underneath, yet flawed with painful imperfections, that momentarily held her captivated. Beneath the secrets and the silence, the shadows of the past and the skins of monsters, he was just a man. It was a small thing, but she was seeing him as no other had since he had become something... different. She held that knowledge to her heart as something personal and sacred.

His shirt joined his cloak along the banister before he strode across the foyer and seated himself in the floor a few paces from the front entrance, as if anticipating intruders. Tifa watched him, eyes still seeking the old wounds that had been lost to her vision in the dimness. She wondered if it hurt every time his wings burst from his flesh, if the pain of it and the pain of his other wounds still burned in his mind and haunted his dreams. Tifa had collected a number of scars herself, but none ached more in her memories than the line running diagonally between her breasts. Perhaps the hurt those scars gave him was not physical. Maybe he had more than what she had seen, and maybe every time he caught a glimpse of them it called to pain better confined within the mental realm of the past. Beneath the blanket, her fingers traced her most carefully guarded scar. It held within it the agony of loss and rage. While she didn't care who might see the marks of battle elsewhere on her skin, she didn't want anyone to see that mark. Even she didn't like to look at it.

She understood why he hid himself in layers, and the reasoning was so very real and so very human that it caused a weight to form inside her heart. Mind awhirl in this sudden understanding, this unexpected feeling of kinship, she wondered what might happen if she kneeled behind him, cast aside the blanket, and pressed her chest to his back, her scars against his, in a moment of bare intimacy. How long had it been since he had shared himself with anyone? Tifa imagined finding each imperfection so cruelly inflicted upon him and taking his pain with her lips, soothing it with her hands. Discovering the complexities of the man who was only just learning to live again and knowing him in the full depth of his ruination.

But things were not so simple as that. Though it felt as if the two were isolated in the abandoned mansion with the hard drive of the rain washing the world beyond away, somewhere out there was her childhood friend and the mess of emotions between them. And out there, holed away from the world in a sanctuary of her own, was the woman who'd held Vincent captive in her sway for some life-altering period of time. Tifa didn't know how much of him still belonged to her. She did know that any transgressions made in the near dark would probably be regretted by the light of the next morning, assuming his response would be anything better than complete rejection.

It was hard to take her thoughts elsewhere, but she managed. She wondered what Cloud was doing and if the money she and Vincent would make from their monster killing would be enough for her to buy a new PHS. She wondered about her friends, now scattered to the corners of the planet, and when she would see them all again. Quite frequently she wondered if there was a thicker blanket hiding somewhere in the house.

"Tifa."

Time had ceased to have meaning by the time he uttered her name with rumbling softness, but judging from the phantoms of light still holding complete darkness at bay, she suspected that it hadn't been very long. The combination of fatigue and endless cold had pulled her mind into aimless drift for a while.

"Hm?"

"Come here."

It took time to drag herself up from her position; her limbs were stiff and trembling. She couldn't imagine what he wanted of her, but she crouched at his side when she reached him all the same. It had gotten harder to see, and the darkness shrouded his face and body as if he bent the forces of nature to his secretive whims. She couldn't see much of him now, but she could still make out the movement of his right hand as he gestured to the floor between his bent legs. Tifa tilted her head in question at him for a moment, but took his silent cue to move without an answer. Whatever his intentions were, she trusted them.

When she was kneeling in front of him, a gentle hand guided her to turn around. Fleeting brushes of his fingers against her back as he pulled the blanket securely closed around her birthed heat in her cheeks. That done, he silently urged her to lean back until she was pressed against his chest and she was caged in by his long limbs.

"Your teeth were chattering," he finally explained. "I can't very well allow you to freeze to death."

The heat of his body seemed unnatural as it seeped through her blanket and soothed her frigid skin, and her heart began an erratic rhythm to match the bedlam of her thoughts. Her stomach flip-flopped as giddiness and nervousness vied for dominance. Here she was, alone in the dark, just short of being cuddled by a half-naked Vincent Valentine.

"You can relax." Was it her imagination, or was he murmuring right at her ear? A moment's consideration revealed that yes, it was her imagination. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't bite."

_Wouldn't mind much if you did._

That wouldn't be an appropriate thing to say at all. In fact, her reaction to the situation was inappropriate, as she reminded herself. He was merely being kind to her, and here she was making the situation awkward. With a careful intake of breath, Tifa forced the tension from her muscles and the hyperactive speed from her pulse.

"I know you don't. It's just... been a long day, and I'm kinda out of it."

She had no idea was sort of explanation that was supposed to be, but he said nothing of it. The next few minutes were passed in that companionable silence that had become so familiar to the two of them, until, in the last throes of light, Tifa noticed something glinting to her left.

The light caught on metal framework exposed by the gaps in twisted, dark skin, forming steel finger bones that rose from the flesh of the middle joints and ran visible to the wrist. Steel formed pieces of joint at the wrist that peeked through clinging scraps of torn, scarred epidermis. It appeared as a battleground between man and machine, an abomination stemming from the artless union of both. Not exactly pleasant to look at, but certainly nothing she would baulk at. She had witnessed madness, greed, and death. When Tifa thought of the word "ugly" these days, Vincent's mangled hand simply didn't fit her definition.

Judgment made poor by thickening drowsiness, Tifa lightly ran her fingertips over the back of Vincent's left hand. He immediately jerked it away from her.

"Sorry. I was just... I've never seen it before." He said nothing, so she added, "It doesn't bother me. Can I ask how it happened?"

"Hojo."

The one word answer only prompted further questions in her mind that, despite her better judgment, came tumbling out of her mouth. "What did he do?"

At first she fully expected that he wouldn't answer and prepared to let the matter drop. He did speak, however, in the distant monotone of a man relating a story he'd only heard and never lived.

"He injected me with various chemicals during my confinement, some of which had corrosive effects on the injection site. Hojo invariably injected my left hand and arm in an attempt to minimize damage to the rest of my body. When these chemicals burned away my skin and eroded my bones, this," he squeezed his left hand into a fist for emphasis, "was his solution."

Tifa was thankful that he couldn't see her cringe. "Does it still hurt?"

"It's slightly sensitive."

"That's why you wear that armor over it?" He didn't answer with words, but made a small, affirmative sound in the back of his throat. Tifa eyed the wounded appendage and tried to imagine what such a thing might've felt like. She'd experienced various levels of pain throughout her life and considered herself fairly well versed on the subject, but still could not twist her imagination enough to grasp the sensations he must've felt. "How did you survive something like that?" she murmured.

This time he didn't answer at all. Tifa realized she'd worn her welcome on the topic and shifted uncomfortably in the resulting silence. Sleep was tugging at her insistently, but she resisted for all she was worth. The next day they would likely part ways, and who knew how long it would be before she saw him again?

Desperate not to allow the day to fade on such a sour note, Tifa leapt to the first subject that came to mind. "Have you decided where you're going to go from here?" Again, no response. Suspicion had been niggling at the back of her mind since learning of Vincent's intention to come to Nibelheim, and at his measured silence the suspicion grew. "You're not going to stay here, are you? In this place?" For a moment she thought he might've fallen asleep on her, but his sigh at her questions told her otherwise. "This isn't a place for anyone to live."

"No, it isn't."

Tifa's lips pulled into a black scowl. "Then you shouldn't stay here. There must be so many bad memories in this place... and you can't cling to your memories." Quiet. It was too dark to see anymore, so she closed her eyes and leaned back just a little into the warmth of his body. "It's scary not knowing where to go. I know it is. But you still have to do something. There's still life out there."

"And you'll find your life among Midgar's rubble?"

She shrugged as much as her position would allow. "It's a starting point." A yawn overtook her next words, but when it subsided she said, "Besides, I still have a debt to pay to those people."

Despite her unwillingness to allow defeat, her mind began drifting on the foggy gray seas of semi-consciousness, seeking the internal darkness that would carry her through until daylight. She slumped further into the firm support behind her and noted with fading consciousness that she had stopped shivering. She turned her head and made a pillow of his shoulder, cheek pressed against the preternatural heat of bare skin. Questions lurked, half-formed in her mind, but she dismissed them. Vincent worked in mysterious ways, and that was likely as close to an answer as she would ever get. Before slipping into thoughtlessness, she allowed a small chuckle.

"May I ask what's amusing you?"

"Just think it's funny," Tifa mumbled in reply. "Everyone thinks you're so cold, but you're really pretty warm."

Those words were the last things Tifa remembered before she awoke to the cheery perfection of an early spring day. When she stirred from her sleep she found herself curled up in the chair she had occupied before, still wrapped in her blanket and utterly alone. Though she strained her ears she could discern no sound but the chirping of birds outside. Vincent's clothes were missing from the staircase, indicating that either Vincent had already left, or he'd crawled back into his coffin in the basement and intended to ignore his overly inquisitive travel partner. If it was the latter, Tifa fully intended to drag him back out by his ear and give him the sound verbal thrashing she'd been too tired to deliver the night before. First thing was first, however. She needed to get dressed.

Tifa had just pulled down her shirt and was raking dirty fingers through the tangles in her hair when the front door swung open to reveal the gunman she's assumed had abandoned her. He carried a bag similar to the one she'd lost over the side of the mountain cliff along with a small paper bag. Tifa, completely caught off guard by his unexpected appearance, merely gaped at him for a moment. The glimmer of amusement in his eyes snapped her from her stupor.

"Where did you go?"

He lifted the paper bag in one hand. "Breakfast." Then lifted the pack in the other. "New supplies. I took the liberty of picking up our reward money."

Tifa spread her blanket across the floor and took the paper bag from him. There was only one container inside and she frowned at it even as she lifted it from the bag in preparation to tear in. "Aren't you going to eat?"

Vincent seated himself on the far side of the blanket and shook his head. "I ate earlier."

Between mouthfuls of scrambled eggs Tifa asked, "How is it that you fell asleep after I did, assuming you slept at all, but still managed to get up earlier?"

His answer was an apathetic shrug, and like his unusually high body temperature last night, Tifa chocked his sleeping patterns up to his unique physiology.

"I also spoke to someone in town who's willing to take us across the river in his vehicle for a small fee."

"That's good. I was wondering how I was going to manage that, but I guess I... wait, us?"

"If you would have me, I thought I might accompany you to Midgar." He lifted his stare from the floorboards and found hers. "I suppose you're right. It is a starting point, and certainly a cause worth undertaking."

Tifa tried and failed to suppress the grin shaping her lips. She felt victorious somehow, though this particular outcome was not one she had foreseen. Even more than that, perhaps, she was glad for the company and the continued contact with a good friend. She had missed the other members of AVALANCHE greatly after they'd left, and the fewer goodbyes she had to say the better.

"Of course! I'd love to have you!" Embarrassment at the overdose of enthusiasm in her voice drew color into her cheeks. "Uh, I mean, I'm glad to have you along, of course."

"When you're ready, then."

A few minutes later they emerged from the mansion into the picturesque beauty of a sleepy, sunny Nibelheim. Tifa glanced behind her to the mountains, then around at the silent houses, inside of which a number of recently unemployed actors dwelled. If she tried, she thought she could scent the ashes upon which their lives had been built. There hadn't been time for her to say goodbye to her hometown five years earlier, so she bid a mental farewell to the standing phantoms of a past she could never completely let go of, then turned her eyes to the town entrance. She didn't look back once.

* * *

A/N: This is the first part of what is likely going to be a three-part story, possibly with a prologue. I have large chunks of the rest of it written, but I manage a pretty hectic schedule and a pretty flighty muse so you'll have to bear with me if updates are slow to come. Regardless, thanks to anyone who took the time to read. Hope you enjoyed it. Constructive criticism is welcome.

On that note, I'd like to dedicate this to the anonymous reviewer "**Sweet Valentine**" who left one of the most in-depth, helpful, and sincere reviews I've ever received for my oneshot "V for Victory."


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